Dread Wolf Drabbles
by LittleLotte17
Summary: Just a dump site for all the Solavellan shorts I have been writing because I am too lazy to keep making individual stories for them all. Mostly fluff with occasional bouts of angst. I will put a brief description and rating at the top of each chapter. Some of these were writing prompts from Tumblr, so they might seem a little random theme-wise.
1. Fight Me!

AN: Aili is bad at being sick. Solas is an exasperated and amused nurse. Anyone wondering about the horse should check out my other story "My Kingdom for a Horse" :)

Rated: T? Pretty safe, but there is some mild cussing and a fight scene.

Disclaimer: Still poor and not working for BioWare

* * *

He almost didn't catch her the first time.

"Lemme go, Solas!" The Herald of Andraste protested with a hiss, flailing her arms as he grabbed her around her middle and physically began hauling her back towards the camp. "I'm sick of being stuck in that stupid tent all day, and I've got work to do."

"You _are_ sick, Da'len," he reminded her with a grunt as one of her elbows caught him in the ribs, "And precisely what sort of work were you planning to get done in the middle of the night?"

"There's a rift around here," Aili said dazedly as what was left of her strength seem to leave her and she sagged heavily in his arms. "I can feel it. Makes my whole arm all tingle-buzzy, like bees. Glowy magic bees. Bzzzzzzz… And I wouldn't _have_ to sneak out at night if you and Cassandra weren't such a pair of mother hens. So picky-pecky. Peck pick peck. "

"And you were going to fight whatever demons had come through the Veil on your own?" Solas snorted. "All while delirious with fever and drugged out of your mind?"

"I feel _fine_. My ankle doesn't even hurt anymore," she insisted, even as she tripped over her own feet. He pulled her back to him to stop the fall, causing her face to smack him squarely in the chest.

"You have taken too many elfroot potions," Solas informed her evenly.

" _You've_ taken too many elfroot potions," Aili mumbled belligerently into his sweater. "I'm the First to a Keeper, Protector of Elvhen lore, and an important agent for the Inquisition; I can fight anything. I can fight dragons and demons, and whatever else. I can fight _you_ if I have to. Bring it on! Fight me, Hahren!" She thumped a hand against his shoulder weakly.

"Is that what you told the bears?" Solas asked, his tone a mixture of exasperation and mild amusement as they finally managed to hobble back into her tent.

"It was!" Aili exclaimed as Solas guided her down onto her bedroll. "I would have beaten them too, if Cassandra hadn't gotten in the way."

"Cassandra is likely the only reason you are not lying dead in a ditch with your face mauled off," Solas reminded her sternly. "She told me you were hitting them over the head with your staff."

"Just the one!" she objected sleepily. "I was running low on mana and it was going after Varric."

"Is that how you ended up unconscious at the bottom of a ravine?" he asked, his brow furrowed in consternation.

"No, no…that was because of the bees." She explained nonchalantly, as though she were commenting on the weather as opposed to a near death experience. "My staff knocked a hive as I was riding back to camp for help and… Well, Fen'Harel doesn't like bees. So, he decided to give them a piece of his mind, and pitched me off his back in the process. Which is how I ended up down in a gully and half way in a stream."

"Your horse was the only reason we found you," Solas told her, still sounding baffled at the memory of it.

"He knows who keeps the carrots coming," she said with a drowsy smile as her eyes drifted shut.

"You are doting on a beast who actively seeks to unsaddle you at every given opportunity?" Solas asked dubiously.

"You catch more flies with honey, Hahren," she informed him in a sleepy sing-song voice.

Aili was quiet for a moment and, assuming she had fallen asleep, Solas moved to pull her blanket over her.

"Don't forget, I'm gonna fight you," she told him through a thick yawn as he tucked the covers under her chin, "but…since I'm so generous, I'm going to…rest a bit while you take some time to bolster your courage. I can be pretty scary, I know."

"Thank you, Da'len," Solas chuckled softly as he sat back, watching her as she drifted off to sleep. "I was truly afraid for my life."

The second time she was betrayed by her accomplice.

" _Harellan_ ," she accused the huge black draft horse under her breath when he stopped directly in front of Solas' tent and refused to move farther, oblivious to her friend's slight flinch at the word. "See if I slip you any treats after this."

"You are not the only one capable of bribery, Da'len," Solas informed her with a smirk, patting the horses flank and sputtering when the beast twitched its tail and smacked in directly in the face with it.

"Ha!" Aili panted breathlessly, pausing for a moment to give a violent sneeze, her face still flushed with fever, "Serves you right."

She leaned closer to the Fen'Harel's head, stroking his neck as she whispered loudly, "I don't know what he promised you, Ma falon, but I know I can do better. He's just some wandering apostate who knows a lot about the Fade, while _I_ am the Herald of Andraste; I've got connections. Just get me out to the Fade rift and you can live in lavish horsey luxury for the rest of your days."

"Assuming, of course, that you did not die in the inevitable battle such an outing would lead to," Solas commented casually. "In which case, the animal who allowed such an incident to occur would likely be put to the sword."

Fen'Harel abruptly sat his hind quarters on the ground, sending his rider to sliding off his back and rolling onto the grass, pinning his ears back at the harsh sounds of her cursing.

"You really are a demon who came through the Veil in the shape of a horse just to torment me." Aili said hoarsely, glaring up at her mount and sneezing once more. Fen'Harel answered with a flippant snort and a flick of his long tail, whipping her sharply in the back of the head.

" _Fenehdis!_ " She exclaimed angrily clutching the back of her skull. "May the Dread Wolf grind you into paste and spread you on his morning toast, you monster!"

"That hardly sounds appetizing," Solas noted with a wry smile.

"You're just as bad as he is!" Aili informed him with a glower. "You think I can't hear Cassandra talking to our scouts outside of my tent? The demons from that rift have been killing refugees. Why won't you lemme do my job?"

"Possibly because you still have dangerously high fever, your ankle has barely healed, and you have ingested enough elfroot to stun a bronto?" He replied with an arched brow.

"Psh, details," she said, waving a hand at him dismissively and lurching to her feet, breathing hard. "You just don't think I'm tough enough. But I _am_! And you aren't even brave enough to face me in a duel so I can prove it to you! You're actually frightened of me, aren't you, Hahren? Admit it!"

Her eyes rolled back in her head as she fainted, pitching forward into Solas' waiting arms.

"Completely terrified, Da'len."

There were several other attempts at escape made over the next week, each one getting progressively more and more ridiculous, including one in which Aili tried to convince him that she was Cassandra by doing a horrific impersonation of the Seeker's Nevarran accent and scowling at him as hard as she could. And when he had pointed out her obviously elven ears, she had tried to persuade Solas that she was actually _him_ instead. He admired her tenacious spirit, even as she drove him to the point of near aggravation, but the more pressing issue was that she didn't seem to be getting any better.

"There is nothing for it, " Cassandra said with a grating sigh when he and Varric had joined her for a meeting to discuss their next course of action. "The rift here must be closed before we leave. Afterwards, we will take the Herald back to Haven for proper treatment. She will have a harder time breaking out of a locked building, if nothing else."

"I think you underestimate her, Seeker," Solas said, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a brief grin. "But I still disagree. The Herald is in no condition to fight."

"Dandelion had a heated argument with Bianca yesterday about the Chant of Light," Varric added with a grimace. "Anyone who starts accusing weaponry or religious oppression probably shouldn't be trusted to sling fire around."

"What choice do we have?" Cassandra snapped, "The people out here are all but defenseless, and the Herald is the only one who can close these tears in the Veil."

"I can do it," Aili coughed, staggering out of her tent, leaning heavily on he staff.

Solas opened his mouth to protest, but found himself silenced by the defiance in her gaze.

" _I can do it_ , Solas," she repeated fiercely, daring him to deny it. He heaved a defeated sigh before giving her a short affirming nod.

"This is crazy talk!" Varric objected. "You'd fall on your ass if a demon so much as looked at you funny, Dandy."

"The Herald does not need to fight," Cassandra said firmly, turning to face Aili squarely. "Your only job is to seal the rift, leave the demons to us."

Aili made a face like she wanted to argue, but she apparently had enough wits about her to think better of it and settled for simply nodding her agreement.

The rift was not too far from camp, but it still took nearly all of what little strength Aili had just to stay in her saddle on the ride there.

Solas helped her down from her steed, casting a protective barrier around them as he wrapped an arm about her waist and led her to the edge of the clearing where the rift had appeared. There were already a fair amount of shades and two rage demons milling around, waiting for the next group of hapless travelers to approach.

Solas frowned. There were even more of the fiends than they had anticipated. He helped Aili prop herself against a tree, reinforcing the protective spell he had cast around her before stepping away.

"Wait here, Da'len," He instructed her. She gave him a tired smile and waved him off to join their companions.

Cassandra took point as they moved further into the clearing, drawing the demons notice. Solas blasted two shades with a spray of ice as Varric peppered a rage demon who tried to cut around a flank them with bolts from his crossbow.

There was still a single shade charging at Cassandra, and she met it head on, bashing it directly in the face with her shield, sending it staggering. It let loose a low groan of displeasure as it came back, swiping furiously with its razor sharp claws. She batted them away with her shield again, opening a path for her blade as she leapt forward to follow through, catching the creature deep in its gut. She twisted the sword savagely before yanking it free. The demon shrieked as its body dissolved, a faint hiss of magic skittering over the Seeker's skin as the Fade rift seemed to reabsorb its essence.

Meanwhile, the rage demon Varric had shot at earlier was closing in on him, flanked by another pair of shades. The rogue managed to plant a bolt in one of the lesser demon's eyes, bringing it down with a single shot, but the other two still pressed forward, herding him steadily back towards the trees. The rage demon lunged forward, snagging the dwarf in the arm with its fiery talons even has he back flipped out of range.

"A little help here?" Varric called out, panting hard and priming Bianca for another round of bolts.

"I am afraid I seem to be a bit preoccupied at the moment," Solas replied over his shoulder as he brought up a wall of ice to defend himself from the second rage demon who was baring down on him.

Cassandra charged from the other side of the field, sprinting across the muddy grass to his aid, drawing off the remaining shade with short vicious swipes of her sword. However, that still left Varric at the rage demon's mercy. He showered the creature with another hail of bolts from his crossbow, but they seemed to do little more than incite its already blistering wrath.

A spurt of flame erupted from where the mouth would be on a normal animal, aimed straight at Varric's face. He threw his arm across his head and braced himself for the scorching heat of the blast- but it never came. The dwarf blinked up at the barrier which had magically formed around him in astonishment. He glanced over at Solas to find that the elf still had his hands full with his own demon. That only left…

Aili was down on one knee and breathing hard, her right hand was held out towards him, focusing intently on maintaining the shield she has raised. Her face was bright red from exertion, and even from where he was standing, Varric could tell that she was sweating profusely.

"You're not supposed to be fighting, Dandy!" Varric shouted in concern.

"What?" Solas asked in alarm, momentarily freezing the demon in front of him and whipping around to look at her.

" _You're welcome!_ " Aili snapped in breathless annoyance. She met Solas' gaze. "Hurry up and help him, I can't hold this long."

"Herald, you should not be-" Solas began.

"I _said_ ," Aili interjected fiercely, throwing out her left hand and casting a powerful surge of lightening at the frozen demon behind Solas, shattering it into a thousand tiny fragments, "Hurry. _Up_."

She dropped to all fours shortly afterwards, exhausted, as Solas' encased the final demon in a thick layer of ice. Varric quickly showered the creature in another wave of bolts from Bianca and lobbed a grenade at it for good measure. Like the monster before it, the rage demon splintered into pieces, and what was left of it was drawn back into the Fade.

Cassandra felled the final shade a few moments later, and the rift throbbed with raw magic, crackling angrily and flooding the meadow in a sickly green light. Aili gave a strangled scream, struggling with all she had left to rise to her feet, stretching out her marked hand toward the hole in the sky.

"Herald!" Cassandra barked anxiously even as Solas and Varric rushed to her side.

"I've got this!" Aili said through gritted teeth, quaking as her mark connected to the Fade and began the process of mending the wounded Veil. The rift snapped shut with a deafening boom, and for half an instant the entire party was disoriented, fighting to keep their feet. When they looked back, Aili was face down on the ground, unmoving.

"Herald!" Solas shouted, hastening to kneel beside her. Cassandra and Varric hovered behind him, shooting each other worried glances as Solas pulled her into his lap and patted her cheek firmly, attempting to rouse her. She was clammy to the touch and her tan skin was unusually pale. She wasn't breathing.

"Da'len!" Solas tried again, shaking her roughly by the shoulders. He was low on mana after the fight, if he used what he had left and it did nothing, he would be powerless to help her. Her head lolled back on her shoulders, and still her chest did not rise. He was running out of time, if she did not wake soon...

" _Aili!_ " This time, his tone was commanding, furious, frantic. He tore the fastens open on the front of her leather armor, and did the same when he encountered the cotton shirt beneath it. He placed both hands against the bare skin of her chest and sent every last ounce of healing magic he could muster into her body in a single powerful blast.

She jerked violently in his arms before going still again, and for a moment he thought they had lost her. Then, her entire body spasmed as she rolled to one sided, wracked with coughs and sputtering.

Once she seemed to have regained her breath, Solas turned her back to him gently. Her pulse was erratic, but strong, and her fever seemed to have broken. She offered him a shaky smile.

"Put 'em up, Hahren." she whispered hoarsely. Solas gave a startled laugh of relief.

"Go easy on me, Da'len," he said softly, brushing a stray lock of pale damp hair back from her face, smiling down at her fondly. "I fear I am no match for you."


	2. All That I Have

AN: Solas leaves Skyhold with a only a few precious treasures and his memories

Rated: K, the only thing here is feelings. Lots and Lots of feelings.

* * *

Despite his threadbare appearance, he is a meticulous man both by habit and necessity. He keeps a precise set of well-worn gear in his pack, fastidiously maintained. Everything has its purpose and its place. He only carries what he needs.

A wooden cup. A chipped bowl. A spoon. A second set of clothing. A faded cloak which also serves as a blanket. A leather pouch of various herbs and sundries. A few precious lyrium potions. A frayed pair of gloves. A knife with an antler haft, creamy white and worn smooth with use.

He is as practical and efficient as the tools he carries, and has never had much use for things which are not useful. There is no point in getting sentimental over objects he has no reason to hold on to.

It should not have been so difficult to pack his belongings before he left.

The Dalish dowry tradition was senseless both for where they were, and for the positions they both held in the Inquisition. It would have caused quite a stir if the Herald of Andraste had walked into the Great Hall of Skyhold with a dead deer slung across her narrow shoulders, even more so when she dropped it at the feet of a ragged-looking apostate as a declaration of her love. But Inquisitor Lavellan was nothing if not generous with her affections, and she was persistent in her desire to follow the customs of her people in whatever manner she was able.

Small simple treasures began making their way into his study almost immediately after he had kissed her on her balcony.

A spiraled seashell gleaming with a faint opalescent light. A sleek red feather the length of his palm. A menagerie of various lacey wildflowers in every hue imaginable. A smooth round stone the exact color of his eyes.

Countless others found their way onto his desk over the course of their ill-fated romance, each a humble testament to her unwavering devotion. Every one was inexplicably precious to him.

The night he had returned from Crestwood broken and suddenly without his heart, he had readied his scant possessions for a hasty flight. He was not certain whether Coryphues' resurgence with his stolen orb or the Inquisitor herself would send him away from Skyhold, but he knew it could not be long in coming.

He had simply meant to reclaim one of his journals from the desk in his study, but he found himself opening the drawer where he stored all of her gifts to him.

One by one he took them out, counting them like stars. He laid them carefully on the floor around him, forming constellations, solar systems, an entire galaxy made of tiny fragments of their love.

He touched them reverently, these ephemeral shards of a life he could have had. If only things had been different. If only _he_ had been different.

And then he put them away.

The flowers carefully pressed into a book of poems. The seashell and the feather tucked into the back of the drawer along with various other offerings she had given him. The little notes she had left occasionally folded neatly and placed out of sight.

They were all for Solas. And he was gone.

Alone in the wilderness, he opened his pack to make his meager camp for the evening.

Of all the things she gave him, he walked away with only four. A lumpy woolen hat, handmade, warm and hideous. The blue stone, smooth and heavy in his palm. A leather-bound sketchbook embossed with twining branches. And...a tiny wooden pendant, carved in the shape of a howling wolf.

'To keep you safe,' she'd told him in carefully lettered Elvhen. Despite the ridiculousness of protecting him from himself, he wore it under his tunic, close to his heart.

He pulled out the sketchbook as he laid down to sleep and opened it to the first page.

It was a charcoal drawing of Aili laughing. She was leaning forward as the wind blew tendrils of her white-blonde hair back from her face. Her eyes were alight with an eager kind of mirth, ready to be pleased, wanting to see something worth smiling for. She looked fiercely optimistic and indomitably happy.

Ten thousand years of existence and this was all he had to call his own.

He laid the open book beside him, briefly tracing the shape of her smile, remembering the sound of her laughter.

"Good night, Vhenan."


	3. Hands

AN: Just a blurb about the touch of lovers

Rated: M for poetical smut

* * *

The touch always beings as something quiet, pale and delicate, blooming when the stars are out, subtle and hesitant in the sunshine. The long slender fingers of a scholar belie the hidden strength found in the stories whispered by the scraping of his calluses against her softer skin. Their coarse texture is a testament to decades of wielding a stave, a paint brush, as well as a hundred other talents he has yet to show her. In the daytime, their palms slide along one another, the intimacy of twining fingers the only act of love-making they care to share with curious eyes. Safely obscured beyond the veils of night, it is another tale entirely. He studies the curves of her shoulder blades with sweeps of careful fingertips. He thumbs his way along the knots on her spine with an air of aching reverence. He traces the arching lines of her navel, her clavicle, her pelvis, until he knows her outline better than his own. His grip tightens and she bends to him, supple and sliding, feeling him with every ounce of flesh she can press to meet his body. They meld. They dance. They burn together. She brings her arms up, blunted nails biting into the muscle of his back, clawing and insistent, begging to be near. He pours lost words into her ears, and in this moment they are understood, solid and knowable as her own mortal heart. They cling. They grasp. They come together, their sweat soaked bodies curling into a single panting heartbeat, mimicking the tender way they hold each others' hands.


	4. Ma sa'lath

AN: The significance of pet names. The language of lovers.

Rated: T mild implications, but really it is pretty safe.

* * *

The first time is almost an accident. Knotted together under a pile of furs in Emprise Du Lion, the pale mist of their exhalations mingles in the night air. She watches him watch her, losing herself in the softness of his expression, the intensity of his gaze. He reaches up and smooths the hair back from her face with warm, careful fingers. Something bright and burning swells in her chest. It pushes its way up her throat and the words slide from her mouth before she even knows she is going to say them.

"Ma sa'lath." The meaning is something velvety and warm, and truer than she knows how to properly convey in Common. It is more than a simple endearment; it is a name. A title. A new thing for him to be. She has been thinking the words to herself for quite some time, but never found the courage to voice them, unsure of his reaction.

He stares at her in mild shock in the semidarkness of their tent, his eyes wide, his hand still tangled in her hair. She feels the heat rising in her face, her mind racing with possibilities of how to retract her statement without causing greater offense.

His features quickly melt into something tender and vaguely amazed, a wide disbelieving smile crinkling the corners of his blue eyes as he pulls her closer. She can feel the rough staccato of his heartbeat against her chest as he kisses her. Against her lips, he breathes her name in quite wonder.

" _Vhenan_."

There never seems to be much time for them to be affectionate. For the sake of appearances, as well as desiring some small shred of privacy, they keep their touches fleeting, the tone of their words casual, the heat in their glances set to a low simmer. This is the one thing they keep.

 _Vhenan._ _Ma sa'lath._ They pass the names between them until even the original Elvhen meanings are stretched into something more than simple phrases of love.

I am with you. Please be careful. _Stop it_. Come back safely. Help! Good morning. Hello. Good night. Stay with me. I missed you. Calm down. Please? You are my home. I love you. Don't leave.

These names become their own private language, the only words that ever truly need saying. Even when they stop saying them.

" _Ma sa'lath!_ " she cries out in a broken whimper, one last frantic appeal for him to stay as hot tears scorch their way down her cheeks. She does not know how else to hold him. The anguish splintering her voice is sharper than an arrow, piercing him squarely between his shoulder blades as he walks away from her into the fog. He stumbles slowly back towards Skyhold an animal mortally wounded. The distant sounds of her heartache gnaw savagely at his insides with every step he takes.

When he can walk no farther, he slumps down at the foot of a tree, burying his face in his hands. Just once, he wanted to touch something beautiful without destroying it. _Just once_.

His head is spinning, his thoughts and feelings mangled by the jaws of fresh despair. His chest feels tight, as though it is too small to contain such an overpowering storm of grief. The name he gave her escapes him in a strangled gasp, the word tearing at his throat, desperate to be heard by the one it belongs to.

" _Vhenan_."

"No matter what comes, I want you to know that what we had…was real."

"I love you," She replies, a strange hint of panic dancing on her tongue. Something is wrong. The words seem like simple flimsy things, useless and ordinary. She says them despite herself, wounded and panting, the remnants of the shattered Elvhen orb laying on the ground between them.

He looks devastated by the thought of it, though it can hardly come as much of surprise. His face and posture are those of a defeated man, sagging and miserable. He looks at her and she sees a terrible weight in his eyes, the loss and the longing he only showed her glimpses of before. He opens his mouth as though to speak, but his words are lost to the worried voices of their friends as they call out for her, searching.

She offers him a faint smile before walking over to the stairs to let their companions know they are alive and relatively unharmed.

He stares after her for a moment, burning the image of her into his mind.

When she turns back, he has vanished. Her heart plummets into the pit of her stomach.

"Solas?" She asks hoarsely, hoping beyond reason that he has simply stepped out of her line of sight. The silence is all that greets her. She looks down at the broken relic of her people and knows that he is gone. She leans heavily against the stone wall at the top of the staircase, gazing out into the empty night.

" _Ma sa'lath_ ," she whispers. It is still true. She hopes he knows without her saying so.

In the deepest shadows of the crumbling ruins, a great white wolf watches the Inquisitor with piercing eyes. A low whine rumbles from the beast's throat as she turns and limps away.

" _Vhenan._ "


	5. Da'len

AN: After some initial tension about "elfiiness", Solas and Aili come to an understanding.

Rated: K, everything is safe and fluffy here.

* * *

It was an hour or so after dawn and Solas had just finished the unpleasant business of bathing himself with the icy water in his wash basin. He supposed he could have used his magic to make the water an acceptable temperature, but between the number of Templars milling about Haven and his already precarious position within the newly founded Inquisition, it was safer not to risk it. He had just pulled on his trousers and was digging around for his tunic when the little elf girl the humans had been calling 'The Herald of Andraste' burst into his cabin.

"Good morning, Solas," she chirped, plunking down on his bed and taking a noisy bite out of an apple she had no doubt swiped from the kitchens.

"Do you _mind_?" he hissed in indignation, finally unearthing his sweater and using it to cover himself, glowering at her all the while.

"What? Oh, not really," she smiled at him carelessly, her violet eyes moving over his exposed skin, as though just noticing his lack of attire. "I imagine you don't have much I haven't seen before, so it doesn't bother me."

Solas muttered something darkly under his breath, turning away from her and tugging his shirt over his head.

"Was that Elvhen?" she asked excitedly, leaning forward eagerly, putting her elbows up on the footboard of his bed. "Fluent Elvhen? You speak it so differently from any Keeper I've ever met. Where did you learn it?"

"Do the Dalish not know how to knock?" he groused, turning back to her with his arms folded tightly across his chest, his mouth creased in a firm line of disapproval.

"My, someone certainly isn't a morning person," she laughed. "And no, Dalish don't knock, everything is shared, including spaces. If you really want to be alone, you just leave camp. I heard you moving around in here and your door was unlocked, so I assumed you wouldn't mind some company."

"That is a rather large assumption," he told her sternly. "I am accustomed to a fair amount of privacy, and it is usually considered common curtesy to make yourself known before entering what you know to be someone else's room."

"Sorry if I offended you and your hermit ways," she said with thinly veiled amusement, "but if you really wanted to keep people out, why didn't you just lock the door?"

Solas heaved a grating sigh.

"Enough. It is done. I ask only that it does not happen again," he said in a clipped tone. "Was there something you needed from me, Herald?"

" _Aili_ ," she corrected him, making a face at the unwanted title. "It's bad enough that the humans are calling me that, I don't need it from one of my own, too."

"I am not 'one of your own'," he informed her.

"You're an elf, aren't you?" she asked, smirking at him and cocking her head slightly to one side.

"And decidedly _not_ Dalish," he reminded her.

"So what?" she asked, blinking at him in confusion. "Does that change the way the humans treat you? Does that change our history or our heritage? Do you really think that because I bear these vallaslin the only thing we have in common is the shape of our ears?"

Solas was quiet for a moment, contemplating this strange woman who had barged into is cabin, not quite sure what to make of her.

"You…you don't like me very much, do you?" she asked, sounding a trifle wounded at his silence.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

"Well…for someone Varric named, 'Chuckles', you don't laugh very much when I'm around," she noted.

"Varric has a penchant for ironic nicknames," Solas told her with a derisive snort. "I might point out that I doubt you have heard me laugh much around _anyone_. It hardly seems the time, with the war between mages and Templars raging across Thedas, and a massive tear in the Veil spewing demons everywhere."

"Fair enough," she conceded, "but you still don't like me. You don't like the fact that I'm Dalish, and that I'm proud of where I come from. You judge me based on your dealings with my people, with clans whom you've admitted likely follow alternate customs and foster different moralities than my own."

"Is your clan so divergent?" he asked, a trace of bitterness sharpening his tone. "Are they possessed of a hidden wealth of knowledge and acceptance that your fellows lack?"

"I don't know," Aili shrugged at him, offering up a lopsided smile. "But you could find out."

"What…are you suggesting precisely?" he queried with a raised brow.

"You said we wouldn't listen to the truth," she said, taking another bite out of her apple and grinning at him. "So, that's what I'm here to do: listen."

"And…you would simply accept the word of a flat-ear? …you would believe what I have seen during my journeys in the Fade?" he asked doubtfully.

"I never said that," Aili said bluntly, shaking her head. "I said I would _listen_. Keeper Deshanna always said, 'Wisdom cannot be simply handed to you by another, Da'len. You must listen, and then you must find the truth in what you have heard for yourself, through study and contemplation. But _first_ you must always listen.'"

"The words of a sensible woman," Solas commented approvingly. He stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment before nodding his agreement. "Very well, what would you like to know?"

"Everything!" Aili exclaimed, scooching even farther down the bed so that she was sitting as close to him as possible.

Solas laughed. Aili beamed triumphantly.

"Ha!" she crowed. "You _can_ laugh!"

"I never said I couldn't," he said, with the remnants of a smile still playing about his lips. "However, I fear it may take me a while to teach you _everything_ , Da'len."

He frowned slightly in embarrassment afterwards, his eyes darting away from her, "I apologize, I should not have called you-"

"I like it!" She cut him off, grinning broadly. "It's better than being 'The Herald of Andraste' at any rate, and it's worth it if it actually gets you to live up to your nickname."

He gave her a dubious glance.

"I hardly think that sharing my knowledge with you is going to transform me into some giddy sniggering simpleton." He told her flatly.

"Never say never, _Hahren_!" she chuckled confidently.

Solas rolled his eyes at her, but found himself smiling despite himself. Her good humor was astoundingly infectious. He opened his mouth to begin their first lesson when Cassandra's commanding voice cut through the crisp morning air, searching for the woman with the fated mark on her hand.

"Looks like we're out of time for today," Aili sighed in obvious disappointment, getting up from the bed and heading towards the door.

"Da'len?" Solas called after her uncertainly. She turned back to face him, her gaze expectant, her face visibly brightening at the new moniker. Her obvious partiality for the name was surprisingly endearing, and he found himself tripping over his next sentence. "You may come by tomorrow morning to talk, if you are so inclined. Just…knock first."

"I'll be here!" Aili promised enthusiastically as she walked out the door.

"Oh, and Hahren?" she said, poking her head back inside to look at him. "Feel free to answer the door in whatever state of dress you'd like. Believe me when I say, you have _nothing_ to be embarrassed about."

She took one last bite out of her apple, flashed him a toothy smile, and disappeared out into the bright morning.

Solas felt a faint heat creeping up his cheeks after she left, and when he caught the eye of his reflection in the small chipped looking glass they'd given him, he was grinning from ear to ear.


	6. Lethallan

AN: Aili Awkward Nerd struggles with the realization that her feelings for the Inquisition's Fade expert might not be strictly platonic.

Rated: K

* * *

Aili was famished, but for once she had wanted to be alone, and this had been her first chance to slip away from her companions in three days of traveling. They all wanted to hover over her, poking at her to make sure she was still herself and giving her disappointed frowns about allying with the mages. They were good people, but Mythal's mercy, all she wanted was a bit of quiet to collect herself. The sleeping woods were beautiful and still, and she refused to let the angry gurgling in her belly ruin it for her.

She heard the footsteps approaching long before their owner reached the little stream she had come to sit by to gather her thoughts. Unconcerned, she pulled off her boots, dipped her feet in the cool water and continued to hum quietly to herself as though she was unaware of her intruder. Their steps were light, but a Dalish hunter moved as silently as a shadow through the forest, and her closest friend growing up was the best scout in their clan. Daewyn had always liked sneaking up on her, trying to see how high he could make her jump. He'd even shot the water buckets she'd been toting out of her hands once or twice just to make her scream. He had seen to it that she was constantly aware of any strange sounds out in the forest, lest she ended up getting pushed into a pond or pelted with a clod of dirt. He had been a laughing, charming, over-confident, pain in her backside, and Creators help her, but she missed his stupid ass.

The events at Redcliffe had thrown her. Ever since Cassandra and her Maker-loving cronies had roped Aili and her creepy glowing Fade-hand into joining the Inquisition, she had pretty much just been making things up as she went along. Creators alone knew why, but people kept asking her to make decisions, expecting her to be capable of fixing everything from finding blankets for refugees to closing that great sodding tear in the sky; it was like she had suddenly become Keeper for all of southern Thedas. She couldn't exactly tell them 'no', so…she had mostly begun trusting her gut and hoping for the best. Thus far, it seemed to be working fairly well, but then some crazy grief-stricken magister had decided to rip a hole in time and chuck her and some snarky mustachioed shem into the future.

And what a future it had been. Darkness, death, and the acrid stench of fear had engulfed all there was like a hungry maw. Rifts and demons were everywhere, red lyurim growing out of the walls, out of _people_ ; it had been horrific beyond words. The stuff of nightmares— _literally_. And the worst part was that it was still a possibility.

She had tried to shake it off like a bad dream, but she hadn't just seen it, she had lived it. All of it. And it was _real_. Leliana had been cut down to defend her, not even knowing if Dorian's spell would work. Varric and Solas had both been dragged into the main hall of the castle, limp and bloody, their broken bodies tossed at her feet. Solas had stared up at her blankly, his dead eyes still glowing red with the tainted lyrium's corruption, eyes that should have been blue and intelligent and kind. Eyes which sometimes smiled at her even when his mouth did not. Eyes that looked at her and made her feel…

Aili shook her head furiously. Getting some silly little infatuation when the whole world was going to the Void? This was why she needed Daewyn here. He would have laughed her out of her folly and given her a kick in the ass to get her back into the fray and helping people. Mythal save her if he ever learned that she'd gone all calf-eyed over some bald, soft-spoken scholar. She'd never hear the end of it.

The footsteps halted close behind her and there was a faint rustling of cloth, as though the man was shifting his stance slightly as he considered what to say. She knew who it was without even looking. There were other members of the Inquisition who could most likely see through her poor attempts at being cheerful, but most of them were content to give her a concerned glance and go back to feigning ignorance. Only one of them would have followed her out here to make sure she was all right.

"Aneth ara, Hahren," she said softly, feeling the heat rising in her face. "Come to check on me?"

"You have been gone for quite some time, Da'len," Solas informed her quietly, the faintest trances of concern bleeding through his calm demeanor. "The evening meal has long since been served. And, you must pardon me for saying so, but since the incident at Redcliffe, you…have not been yourself."

"Meaning I haven't been pestering you every hour of the day," Aili said with a thin, rueful smile. "I thought you would appreciate a break from my constant babbling."

"You do not babble," Solas insisted, sounding a bit surprised. She gave him a disbelieving glance as he sat down beside her. "…often," he conceded.

"You question, you wonder, you show interest in topics most would be afraid of or choose to forget because the truth of our world is a difficult and complicated thing," he said. "This is nothing to be ashamed of, and I am sorry if I have ever made you feel the need to apologize for it. If I appear distant, it is because…it has simply been a long time since anyone has actively sought out my company, but I find it is a welcome change. I enjoy our discussions."

"You _do_?" she asked, clearly astonished at the thought. He huffed in amusement.

"I would not pursue them otherwise," Solas told her with an encouraging grin. He was silent for a moment, his deep blue eyes searching her face for something. "I fear our conversation this evening must be a bit less pleasant than usual, however. Will you tell me what is troubling you, Da'len?"

"I'm just…" Aili trailed away for a moment, staring down at her bare toes as she wiggled them in the water, she had blisters from those boots they kept forcing her into. She looked back over at him. "You're always so composed, so sure of yourself…I know we've only known each other a few months, but even with mages and templars setting the world on fire and demons literally falling from the sky, I've never seen you be afraid of anything. Not once. How do you do it?"

"Would running around screaming have resolved any of our troubles?" he asked with a hint of playfulness. She snorted.

"That's not what I meant." Aili frowned and glanced away from him. "I'm the First to a Keeper. I was supposed to be good at this sort of thing. Taking care of people, being strong for them…I guess I just thought I'd be better at it, this whole…'being a hero' thing."

"You give yourself too little credit," Solas assured her. "Considering the circumstances, you have handled yourself admirably thus far. As to being afraid, it is perfectly normal. And…"

"And?" she asked, curious to see how he would end his thought.

"And you are young," he told her with a faint smile and a slight shrug of his shoulders. She turned her face away from him, flushed and scowling.

The thought that he regarded her as little more than a child filled her with a petulant sort of indignation, but she bit her tongue and said nothing. It was one thing to call her 'Da'len', it was a bit of an endearing joke between them, but this was something else entirely. She folded her arms across her chest, closing herself off from him. She realized that pouting like this was somewhat proving his point, but the words had stung.

He touched her shoulder lightly, seeing how his words had affected her and trying to be consoling. When she glared back at him, his eyes shone with amusement and one eyebrow had quirked mischievously.

"I did not say it was a _bad_ thing," he reminded her.

"You didn't say it was a good thing either," she pointed out peevishly. He laughed.

"A touch of both, perhaps," Solas said with a grin, tilting his head slightly to one side. "To be afraid of your adversary and to fight them regardless of that fear is an act of bravery, and facing this world with your heart bared, to freely express both compassion and grief, is a courageous thing which few are capable of. Though perhaps the latter has more to do with the strength of your spirit than your youth. You are a rare person indeed."

Aili felt the heat radiating from the base of her neck all the way to the tips of her pointed ears, and imagined that she must strongly resemble a raspberry. Giddy with a pleased sort of embarrassment and smiling like a fool, she opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, trying to think of what to say.

Taking note of this reaction and realizing what it meant, Solas frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. His eyes darted away from her as though he had said more than he meant to. He rose abruptly and took a step back towards the denser part of the forest.

"Come," he said brusquely, the slight color rising across his cheeks belying his stoicism, "We should return to camp. The others will be missing us." She reached out and snagged his coat without thinking, not wanting the moment to end just yet. Her mind scrabbled for what she could say to make him linger.

" _I saw you die_ ," Aili blurted out, the declaration catching in her throat. She was mortified by the outburst, but it seemed to have the desired effect. Solas was standing stock still, as if awaiting an explanation. The words tumbled from her before she thought better of it, "You'd been kept in a cell, and the red lyrium had been poisoning you for a year, but you still died protecting me, fighting to give me a chance to come back. I got you killed. I failed you. I failed _everyone_. And I didn't even know if Dorian's plan would work, or if we'd get trapped in some other timeline and I wouldn't be able to save you and…" She trailed away, staring up at him with wide frightened eyes, feeling like an idiot. He blinked down at her in amazement.

She bit her lip and released him, wishing she had a hole to disappear into right about now. She twisted her fingers together nervously as the silence stretched between them uncomfortably. Solas knelt in front of her, placing one hand over both of hers, stilling their agitated movements.

"My safety is hardly worth such concern," he told her gently.

"But…at Haven," she mumbled, staring down at where their hands touched. "When you decided to stay with the Inquisition…I promised I'd protect you."

"I never expected your vow to be so…thorough," he replied, sounding distinctly amused.

Aili ducked away from him and said nothing. She had never actively pursued a man before. She had never had an interest and, as far as she could tell, no one had ever had an interest in _her_. Sure, she had gotten a lingering glance or two on the infrequent occasions when they ran into another clan, but it never went farther than that. Everyone knew that she and Daewyn were close, and there had been…expectations. And yet, as much as she loved him, Daewyn's words had never caused this paralyzing mixture of ecstasy and fear that she was experiencing now. He had never made her heart thunder in her ears just by being near her, or smiling at her, or laughing at one of her dumb jokes. He had never been more than family.

Solas was different. Not just different from the Dalish, but from any elf, and for that matter, any man she had ever met. He was patient with her, always steady, always calm; he reminded her of her Keeper, a comparison which would have rankled him, no doubt. Despite this, he was also capable of playfulness, though his own laughter always seemed like it surprised him. His companionship had become a haven in the mad whirlwind her life had suddenly been tossed into. He was careful and compassionate and kind, and she couldn't help hoping that he saw something in her worthy of his admiration.

Solas squeezed her hands gently to get her attention. The expression on his face was guarded, uncertain.

"There…was a moment," he said in a low gruff voice, "after Alexius used the amulet…There were scorch marks on the floor, and you were nowhere to be seen, and I assumed that you were… I was afraid." He looked her straight in the eye, and his gaze was sincere and tinged with a slight air of lingering worry. She wondered what would happen if she dared to lean forward, if she just…

Her stomach rumbled loudly, demanding her attention and breaking the spell of the moment. Solas laughed.

"Come, Lethallan, we should find you something to eat," he said, still chuckling as he rose to his feet once more.

"Lethallan?" she repeated, sounding a bit shocked.

"It was…presumptuous of me to treat you as a child," he told her. "You are not, and I should not call you so." He caught her eye and grinned, "Besides, we are friends, are we not?"

"Yes," she replied, forcing a smile, but cringing inwardly at the word ' _friends_ '. "I suppose we are. Lead the way, _Lethallin_."


	7. I'm Here for You

AN: Set after 'All New Faded for Her". Aili tries to comfort Solas.

Rated: K

* * *

Aili hovered in the doorway to the rotunda with a covered tray in her hands, watching Solas as he contemplated a bare stretch of wall, his sketchbook laying open on his desk. His posture was stiff, the motions of his hand agitated and unhappy. He glanced back at the wall and then down at his drawing, his mouth puckering in a sour frown of dissatisfaction. His brow furrowed deeply as he heaved an aggravated sigh and tore the page out roughly, crumpling it in his hands before tossing it away.

"Was there something you needed, Lethallan?" he asked suddenly, his eyes never leaving his work as he began a new drawing.

"If you're busy, I can come back another time," Aili said uncertainly, taking a few hesitant steps into the room. "I don't want to bother you."

"You are no bother," he sighed, setting down the thin stick of graphite he had been sketching with. "I am simply…distracted. I am not certain I can be much use to you at present, but if you require my services, I will do my best to assist you."

"Please, Lethallin," she began thickly, her brows furrowing anxiously. "You just lost someone dear to you. You have every right to mourn them. Please don't feel like you have to force yourself to act like it doesn't bother you. Not with me."

"I…thank you," he stammered, the words catching slightly in his throat. "It is…difficult, but I would rather not dwell on it. I have already taken my time to grieve. If you have a question for me, it would be a welcome diversion from my own thoughts."

"I'm afraid I come bearing only friendly concern…and these," she set the wooden tray down on his desk and removed the covering, revealing a small plate piled high with desserts.

Solas' face froze in an expression of complete astonishment, his mouth gaped slightly and his blue eyes blinked in wonder at the sight before him. He glanced back up at her questioningly, clearly awaiting some sort of explanation.

"Y-you always offer to eat the extra servings from the dessert course," she stammered, fearing that she had picked the wrong thing to cheer him up. "I didn't know which one was your favorite though…so I just took one of everything."

"You stole these from the kitchen?" he asked with a huff of mild amusement.

"The Herald of Andraste doesn't _steal_ ," she told him, feigning offense. "I requisitioned them for the sake of furthering the goals of the Inquisition…without asking."

Solas laughed and shook his head at her. Aili beamed at him.

"It's good to see you smile again," she said earnestly, reaching out and placing a comforting hand on his arm.

"You make it difficult to steep myself in melancholy," he replied, his smile melting into softness, something bright and wincing flickering behind his gaze.

"Then you…aren't mad at me?" She asked tentatively. "For stopping you from hurting those mages?"

"They should have faced justice for what they did," Solas said, inhaling sharply through his nose. "But…you have a forgiving nature, and I do not begrudge your request that I spare them."

"I didn't do it for _them_ ," she exclaimed indignantly. "They were a bunch of ill-informed morons. But…they were also scared."

She held his gaze, sincerity and thinly veiled affection gleaming in her eyes as she continued softly. "They were scared and they did something stupid trying to save themselves. And their ignorance was born from years of Chantry oppression in what was arguably the most abusive and negligent Circle in Thedas. They deserved to be punished…but they didn't deserve to die. And I knew that if I could see that…eventually you would too. I didn't want you to bear the weight of their deaths along with everything else, and I imagine your friend wouldn't have wanted that for you either. They weren't worth it."

"You presume much," he told her stiffly, clenching his jaw and glancing away.

"I've seen you pity other enemies with crimes just as heinous," she pointed out. "Or did I just imagine that conversation you had with Bull about how everyone we face in battle has potential- how they are living people with hopes and dreams and families?"

"Perhaps…my anger clouded my judgement in this matter," Solas admitted pensively after a moment of silence, "but their actions still merited some sort of retribution."

"Which is precisely why they are sitting in one of Skyhold's prison cells being glared at by a pair of Cullen's Templars as we speak," she told him with an expectant grin.

"You…you arrested them?" he asked, his eyebrows rising in shock at the revelation.

"Of course I did," Aili shrugged, frowning slightly. "I couldn't just let them walk away after what they did. If nothing else, I had to make sure they couldn't hurt people anymore, spirit or otherwise. I've been waiting for you come back to pass judgement though."

"You have a sentence in mind, then?" he asked curiously.

"One or two," she confided with a grim smile. "My favorite involves digging latrines for our troops in the Fallow Mire."

He gave a snort of laughter and her expression softened into one of warm and open sympathy.

"I know it won't bring your friend back… Ir abelas, Lethallin." She made a gesture with her hand as though she wanted to touch him, but thought better of it. "You know…I'm here if you need me. Always. You don't have to grieve alone."

He reached out and took her hand loosely in his, smiling fondly as the color rose in her cheeks.

"I know now."


	8. Catch Your Scent

AN: Another little drabble set right after "All New Faded for Her". Someone is falling in love. 3

Rated: K

* * *

She tucked the woolen blanket around him carefully, fighting the urge to let her fingers linger longer than necessary when they came in contact with the slight swell of his bicep, the knot of his shoulder, the dip of his lean hips. He had fallen asleep in his study again, sprawled languidly across his couch. Even in sleep, sorrow had etched itself into his features, still mourning the loss of his friend. The weight of his grief felt like a ball of lead in her chest, solid, dark, and aching, rising up into her throat whenever their eyes met. She wanted so badly to hold him, to convey the sort of comfort that only comes from touch; a soft warm sense of belonging. But he had asked for time to consider their relationship, and time is what she was giving him. If only he would let her give him more.

"You are safe," she whispered to him, thinking of the Chantry priests who still gave her Fade expert dubious glances whenever they overheard them discussing magic.

"You are valued," she continued just as softly, remembering the numerous occasions he had been brushed aside and overlooked based solely on his modest attire and his pointed ears.

"You are _home_." Her voice broke on the last word, recalling the gnawing worry that had torn at her gut when he had not returned to their camp in the Exalted Plains, the bubbling panic when he was not at Skyhold to meet them, and the selfish sense of paralyzing loss when the realization struck her that she might never see him again.

She kissed her fingers and, not quite daring to touch his face, placed them lightly on the blackened wolf jaw where it lay over his heart.

"Ar lath ma, Solas." The words were his even if he would not have them. "Sleep well. May the Trickster never find you in the Beyond."

* * *

He waited until he heard her close the door softly behind her, listening as the light sounds of her footfalls trailed away into the Great Hall. Keeping his eyes closed, he pulled the blanket up to his nose with one hand and breathed deeply. The smell of lavender and fresh water washed over him, sweet and clean. He held it in his lungs until he was dizzy with it, as though it might purify him of all his past transgressions. Her words echoed in his head like the sound of the ocean, coming back to him again and again. They buoyed him up and away from his sadness, only to pull him back down into something darker, deeper, and infinitely more disastrous. She loved him. _She loved him_. He threw his arm across his face as a strangled bark of laughter broke past his lips. The Dread Wolf may have caught her scent, but it was _he_ who was ensnared.


	9. Aneth ara

Did someone ask for an almost kiss? No? have one anyway.

Rated T: some mild language.

* * *

Solas nearly jumped out of his skin when the door to the rotunda slammed open, causing him to slop a healthy amount of bright scarlet paint over both of his hands as well as down the front of his tunic. He didn't even have a chance to voice his ire with the vehement string of Elvhen curses that were dancing on the tip of his tongue before a petite feminine form launched itself into his arms at full speed.

"Solas!" Aili exulted loudly, startling Leliana's crows up in their rookery as she used the momentum from her previous exuberant barrage to twirl them both around in a clumsy wobbling half circle. "They're _alive!_ "

"Who is alive, Lethallan?" Solas finally managed to ask when she released him from the crushing loop of her embrace in favor of taking him by both paint-covered hands and continuing to lead him around his study in a swinging, faltering, and occasionally tripping sort of dance as some kind of strange enthusiastic testament to her joy.

"My clan!" She chirped happily, smiling from ear to ear, her violet eyes sparkling with unbridled delight. "Cullen got the report this morning. They lost two hunters before our troops got there, and a few more were injured when they went to hunt down the so-called 'bandits', but everyone else is safe. They're safe! Safe safe _safe_!"

Aili let go of one of his hands and spun into him, laughing deliriously when she accidently ran into his chest. Solas grunted at the unexpected impact, steadying her as she stumbled a half step away.

"And such a victory can only be celebrated with dancing?" He surmised with a knowing grin, completely forgetting to let go of her hand. They were both an absolute ruin of crumpled clothing and red paint.

"Naturally!" Aili beamed, still chuckling to herself. "I kissed Cullen when he told me. You should have seen the look on his face!"

"Is that so?" Solas said quietly, something cool and closing sneaking across his features, his tone carefully neutral. He let go of her hand.

"Right on the cheek, in front of everyone!" Aili snorted, oblivious in her good humor. "I swear the man is secretly terrified of me. It must be all that Templar training that makes him extra jumpy around mages. Truly, he looked like he soiled his smallclothes."

Solas smiled and shook his head at her, the strange tightness in his chest easing slightly at her words.

"You should not tease him so, Lethallan," he chided her gently. "I doubt Fereldans are accustomed to such openly affectionate displays of gratitude."

"You think I offended him?" Aili asked, deflating somewhat as she began fretfully twisting her fingers together. "I only wanted to thank him!"

She bit her lip, her eyes flicking back towards the door she had come in through, her brows knitting with fresh anxiety.

Solas found his gaze drawn to her mouth, watching her worry her bottom lip until it was the color of a ripened raspberry. There were bits of pastry on one of her cheeks, along with what appeared to be a generous dollop of honey. Without thinking, he reached out to touch her face, swiping ineffectually at the remnants of what had likely been her breakfast with his thumb, smearing the line of her jaw with dabs of crimson paint instead.

Aili started at the sudden contact, but did not pull away. She blinked up at him, her amethyst eyes bright and questioning, her lips parting slightly. There were so many things suspended in the air between them, waiting with bated breath to be said aloud, yet she held her tongue. There was some strange magic in the silence hanging between them, and neither of them seemed daring enough to break it. For weeks now they had slowly but surely begun drawing nearer to each other, like two celestial bodies caught in a decaying orbit. Every not quite accidental touch, every private joke or whispered conference, every over-warm glance that lingered a bit too long to retain its innocence drew them nearer to what was looking more and more like an inevitable collision.

Solas felt her breath fan across his lips and inhaled sharply through his nose. When had he moved so close to her? He could smell the faint hint of honey on her breath. It would be so easy to remove those last few inches of space between them, to taste her sweetness and her joy, and to take part in them. He found himself bending towards her as naturally as a flower grows towards sunshine, yearning to catch her in his own fire, to ignite them both and burn away the mistakes of the past. He was distantly aware that kissing her would be an irredeemable blunder in the grand scheme of things, but her kindness was such a tempting succor to surrender to. A veritable feast hovering just beyond the reach of his famished heart.

The tips of their noses brushed one another lightly and he heard Aili's breath hitch in her throat. Her gaze lifted to meet his, and held him more securely than any spell she could have cast. Wide and slightly slanting, her eyes were the soft hazy violet of gathering twilight, glittering faintly in the guttering candlelight like a pair of gemstones. The way she looked at him was soulful and searching, and for the briefest moment, just the tiniest bit afraid. It was enough to save them both.

Solas pulled away, his smile edged with trace amounts of guilt as he swiped at her cheek one last time. Aili blinked like she was coming up for air after a long dive into unknown waters.

"Solas…what?" she began dazedly, trying to piece together what had almost happened.

"There was something on your face," he informed her, chuckling ruefully as he finally took note of the paint he had rubbed on her. "And I fear I have made it worse."

"O-oh," she stammered, wiping at her face with her sleeve to remove whatever mess might remain. She cringed when she took stock of the wide stripes of red paint covering both of them. "I see you were painting."

"Yes, I was just adding a few last touches when you arrived," Solas told her, glancing back at the fresco of Haven burning.

"It's beautiful," Aili said with a smile, coming to stand at his side to observe his work. She turned to him after a few moments of quiet appreciation, concern furrowing her brow once again. "You don't really think Cullen is mad at me, do you?"

"I imagine he is rather flustered, but I doubt you have truly offended him," Solas reassured her. "Indeed, I believe you may find there are few men who would not rejoice at such a manner of thanks. For instance, the Commander may well go beyond the call of duty in an attempt to garner another sign of such appreciation."

"Cullen...always does his best," Aili agreed uncertainly, sounding a trifle confused, "but you were right. Fereldans are more reserved with touching and things, and I should have been more sensitive to his personal boundaries. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

Solas sighed, shaking his head and smiling at her hopelessness. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn she was willfully obtuse in regards to her own charms.

"So…what about you?" Aili asked.

"What about me?" Solas replied, arching a brow and tilting his head slightly to one side.

"You said most men would like getting a kiss as a thank you," she explained, the color rising in her face. "Would…would you like something like that? To be thanked that way, I mean."

"Hm, I supposed it would depend on what I was being thanked for," Solas answered, one corner of his mouth twitching upward in amusement. He gave her a meaningful glance, "And who was doing the thanking."

"I…I see," Aili told him, though it was perfectly evident by the crease in her brow that she did notsee at all. Solas had to bite back a laugh as he watched the implications of his words go sailing over her head. She was usually so perceptive when it came to reading people, the gift was prevalent in all matters save one it would seem. She was clearly just as ignorant of his growing regard for her as she was to Cullen's. It was a small mercy. He wasn't certain he had to power to refuse her if she pursued him in earnest.

He reached out and touched her hand lightly, curling his long fingers loosely around her slender palm, wishing for more than he could ask for. He may have been cringing internally at his selfishness, but the smile he gave her was tender and genuine.

"I am glad to hear that your family is safe, Lethallan," he said, his voice grown soft and sincere. She squeezed his hand and flashed him a dazzling smile.

"Ma serannas, Lethallin." She glanced back at his fresco. "Are you going to keep painting?"

"I still have a few details to add before it is completed," he informed her. "I need to finish it before the plaster dries."

"Can I stay and watch?" she asked eagerly. He chuckled at her enthusiasm, pleased at her interest.

"Of course."

"My my, what do we have here?" Dorian mused in a low voice, leaning over the banister of the library on the second floor of the rotunda, arching a brow and stroking his he goatee thoughtfully as he peered down at the two elves in the study below. He had heard Aili's earlier excitement, but there was nothing particularly strange about the Dalish woman bouncing off the walls when she was happy. He had been far more intrigued by the sudden drop into hushed tones that had come a few minutes later, and the silence that had followed. And here they were: the strangest pair of turtle doves he'd ever laid eyes upon, or at least they would be, if one of them could be prevailed upon to return the other's affections.

"Wot?" Sera asked thickly through a mouthful of blueberry tart, taking a break from her task of cramming rude drawings into all of the Inquisition's dullest looking tomes in favor of joining the Tevinter mage at the railing. She shot him a puzzled frown when she saw what he was looking at, half her dessert still in one hand, oozing deep purple juices through her fingers. "So? S'just Aili and Solas. Probably talking 'bout boring elfy shite, as usual."

"Is that all you see?" Dorian asked with a knowing grin as Aili scooched her chair closer to where Solas was painting, leaning towards him as much as she could without disturbing his work. Solas took note of her proximity, pausing long enough to bend down and whisper something in her ear, making her laugh.

"Elfie's got it bad for the Inquisitor, yeah?" Sera scoffed, "So what else is new? Cullen's got more hero-y…ness. And hair. He'll win her over, you watch. Sweep her off her feet all proper-like."

"I admit, the Commander is rather fetching, in a rough backwater kind of way," Dorian agreed, "but I'm afraid Aili would have to stop making doe-eyes at our Fade expert for longer than two minutes in order to actually notice the poor man."

Sera blew a disgusted raspberry, her face scrunching up in obvious distaste, "There's no way, Aili'd be into that dusty old fart, she's too much fun."

"Stranger things have happened," the Altus replied with a laugh. "I think you've mistaken Solas' interest though. It seems more likely that he is aware of her interest and wants to avoid hurting her feelings. He could certainly spare us all this awkward posturing and just tell her though, the Inquisitor isn't exactly adept at subtlety."

"For someone so smart, you sure are dumb sometimes, yeah?" Sera laughed, shaking her head. She gestured down at the first floor with the dripping remnants of her blueberry tart, drawing attention to Solas as he moved past the Inquisitor to get something off his desk, casually placing a hand on Aili's shoulder in passing, breaking her gaze from his fresco long enough to flash him a smile. "He touches her, yeah? Like, _all_ the bloody time. When she's angry. When she's hurt. When he won't shut up about the stupid Fade. And sometimes for no reason at all, just 'cause he wants to. There's only one reason someone who's laced up as tight as him does that sort of thing, and it isn't to let her down easy, yeah? But Aili's like that with everyone, grabby hands and huggy arms, always up in your business. It doesn't mean the same when she does it."

"That is…remarkably astute of you," Dorian admitted, sounding impressed.

"Who's got arse toots?" Sera asked, scowling at him in suspicion.

" _Astute_. It means you're observant," Dorian sniggered. "I suppose it's just hard to imagine Solas being interested in anyone. And the Inquisitor seems a bit… _young_ for him."

"Right?" Sera snorted, "Don't even want to think about him trying to kiss someone. There's only one part of him that knows how to pucker, yeah? And it isn't his mouth." She gave a rippling peal of laughter at her own wit. Dorian groaned.

" _Ma vhenan ghilana_ ," came a soft voice from Dorian's right as Cole materialized from seemingly nowhere, sitting precariously on the railing, swinging his long legs back and forth. Sera gave a strangled yelp of alarm, instantly backing away from the spirit boy.

"Bloody creepy thing!" she sputtered crossly. "I _hate_ it when it does that."

"What were you saying, Cole?" Dorian asked, turning his attention to their news companion. "That sounded like something Elvhen."

"Eyes bright and brimming and so beautiful. An old song blossoming into something new, because _you_ make it new, you make it _real_. Warm summer light sifting through leaves, blinding and hopeful, tumbling and soft. Like rain making ripples in a quiet pond and the smell of spring. Falling, feeling, faltering faith. _Why did I find you here_?"

"And those are…the Inquisitor's thoughts?" Dorian guessed, basing his estimation of his own hunch.

"Yes?" Cole said, sounding a bit confused, as though it should be obvious.

"Ha!" Dorian crowed.

"Piss!" Sera groused, her face souring. She turned her gaze back to the elves on the first floor and found that Aili was smiling broadly, leaning much closer to Solas than was required for a friendly chat. The rogue made a noise of supreme disgust and disappointment at her friend's poor taste, hurling the remaining half of her blueberry tart down at the almost-couple.

There came a string of fervent cursing followed closely by the sound of Aili's laughter echoing off the chamber walls. Sera stayed just long enough to peer over the railing and take in the sight of Solas' bald head covered in purple juice and bits of pastry. She turned her head to Dorian, mischief burning in her eyes and a victorious grin pulling at her full lips.

"You did it!" She exclaimed, running up towards the door that lead back to the main hall from the library, laughing raucously the whole way.

"Who did that?" Solas fumed from below, making Dorian decide it was high time he made his own hasty exit, keeping far from the balcony as he edged towards the door in an attempt to avoid being seen.

"Come on," Aili said, still laughing as she took the older elf by the elbow and tugged him towards the door to the great hall on their level. "We should both probably get cleaned up."

Solas' expression softened as he allowed himself be led away, leaving no one in the rotunda except Leiana's crows and the strange pale boy still perched up on the railing of the second floor.

"It was both of you," Cole said to no one in particular, smiling faintly at the door the two elves had just left from, clicking his heels against the wooden beams of the balustrade. "I'm so afraid, but I want this; I want _you_. Despite everything. When did you begin to feel like home? _Emma lath…aneth ara_."


End file.
